


undone and divine

by Lordki



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Martin, M/M, Martin is still an asshole though, Medium Chaos (Dishonored), Outdoor Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, heh, sex outside the hound pits, whale oil as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordki/pseuds/Lordki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Corvo. Damn him. Curse him to the Void. Martin wanted to strangle the pitying expression from the man's eyes. To battle that proud face into submission. He wanted to protect him from anyone else's hands, or blades or guns. He wanted---</em><br/> <br/>In which what Teague Martin wants is exactly what Corvo is willing to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	undone and divine

* * *

         

         The night was growing cold. Soon the first chill of winter would settle around the city, the soft autumn nights giving way to frost. Some said the first snowfall would kill all the rats. Others said it would kill any of the infected still living in the slums. It would be a deadly winter, at any rate.

         Leaning against the rusted rail overlooking the river, Teague Martin nursed a cigarette and considered the last week. It had been a long one. Only two days ago, he'd been chained in stocks, displayed in Holger Square like an animal for slaughter. It seemed years ago already. He exhaled a lungful of smoke.

         Of all the people Havelock could have sent to free him, he'd sent Corvo Attano. Not that Martin was ungrateful. Watching Jasper's head fly free of his body had been reward enough, let alone being able to move again. But the experience had been unnerving. He had blinked, it seemed, and Corvo had been there within that instant, sword flashing before that horrible mask. Martin had barely maintained his outer facade of calm. He'd been struggling to do so ever since.

         Damn Corvo. The man was too perceptive for his own good. More than once, Martin had caught him watching from the shadows. Havelock was getting downright jumpy at the possibility the Royal Protector might turn on them at any second. Not that, as Martin had reassured him, there was any real chance of that. Corvo wanted his revenge as much as any of them wanted power.

         The masked assassin was out now, late into the night, attending a party at the Boyle Estate. Martin smiled to himself, not above admitting his own jealousy. But his days as a free man were over unless they succeeded in overthrowing the Lord Regent. He shifted his weight against the rail, staring out at Dunwall Tower where it rose in the distance, across the river.

         All of it seemed so unlikely, he mused. Here he stood, outside the remains of the Hound Pits, with enough knowledge to sink the empire and almost enough power to use it. He, Teague Martin, the heretic. The Abbey would have branded his face given the chance. Now he might yet take up the office of High Overseer. Perhaps even something more.

         There was a quiet hum as a small boat approached the pub. Martin tossed his spent cigarette and pulled a replacement out of his pocket, watching the arriving craft. It was Samuel's boat, the familiar engine whining down as the old sailor cut the power. Corvo's figure was silhouetted against the river. He was working the clasps of his mask, freeing himself from the hideous metal face. The boat bumped against the stones of the modest dock. Corvo leapt cleanly ashore.

         Martin considered him, lighting his second cigarette. Whatever he had expected the man to be, Corvo had certainly surprised him. Martin had been under the impression that the Serkonan was something of a silent brute, hired muscle whose only task was to stand behind the Empress. He'd been embarassingly wrong, as their first conversation had shown him. Corvo was quiet and sharp, like that sword of his. 

         Martin had been nearly speechless when Corvo had first appeared sans mask, deep brown eyes flashing with focus above high cheekbones. Perhaps foolishly, the Overseer had imagined Attano as an older man, or an unremarkable one. It would be much easier, Martin lamented to himself, if Corvo were simply less... interesting.

         There were soft footfalls behind him, and Martin turned to find the object of his reverie walking toward him. Corvo gave him a nod in greeting, pausing a few yards away. The starlight reflected silver-blue against his dark hair.

         "Corvo," Martin inclined his head, "How was your night out? Enjoy the party?"

         "No," Corvo answered flatly, closing the distance between them and stepping up to the railing beside Martin. He planted both elbows against the old metal and relaxed, releasing a deep breath through clenched teeth.

         "The nobles made quite an impression on you, I see."

         "It's not that," Corvo's voice was low in its usual careful tone. His face was illuminated in the moonlight, deep shadows around his eyes disippating as he lifted his gaze heavenward. Martin watched him, blowing smoke toward the river. He was sure he ought to be concerned for Corvo's state of mind, but all he was able to notice was the way dim light was pooling around the man's lips and carving out the lines of his nose and brows. He was beautiful, this deadly mystery, in a rough-hewn way. Martin stood in silence for so long that Corvo finally turned to look at him, eyes hooded by shadow.

         "Can I trust you?" Corvo asked softly.

          Had anyone else asked him, Martin might have laughed. _Of course not,_ he would have said, _trust is a fallacy in this day and age._ But Corvo was watching him with a kind of earnest need. Somehow, it was impossible to tell him no.

          "Can you trust anyone?" Martin replied with a question, covering his own distraction.

          "No. But I'm asking you."

          Martin gave a low laugh, "You're asking me. An Overseer."

          "A disgraced one."

          "Fair," Martin shrugged, turning so he was more fully facing his companion, "but still an odd confidante for a servant of the Outsider."

          Corvo jerked back, eyes wide. Before the Serkonan could open his mouth, Martin held up a hand.

          "You can trust me. I'm not interested in your beliefs, Corvo, I'm interested in your ability with a blade."

          "Is that all?"

          He'd said it casually, but the words caught Martin's attention and held it as he stared at Corvo in a kind of confused rapture. He wasn't sure he knew what Corvo was asking. He gave a fractional shake of his head. They regarded each other in the darkness, until Martin was forced to look away from those penetrating eyes. He tossed his half-finished cigarette.

          "I'm a stranger to you, Corvo," he took up a place on the rail a few inches closer to the assassin, "I don't understand why you'd want to trust me in the first place."

          Corvo watched the river and did not reply. From the dock below, there were the soft sounds of Samuel securing the boat for the night and climbing the stairs toward the pub. Far behind them, the front door opened and shut with a distant creak.

          "I need..." Corvo finally said, running a hand through his unkempt hair, "I need a promise from you."

           Martin's heartbeat stuttered a bit at the way Corvo's voice lilted the word _promise_. It was the only hint of an accent he'd ever given away. Martin watched the Serkonan struggle to find his next statement and somewhere in that moment he damned himself completely. The way Corvo's jaw worked, the carriage of his shoulders and the tapping of his thumb against the guardrail... Martin felt a flush rise from his chest, crawling up his neck to warm his face. He was grateful for the darkness. Corvo turned to him, brows furrowed, and Martin barely maintained his carefully composed expression.

          "Whatever happens to me," Corvo said with slow emphasis, and a jolt of hot panic shot through Martin's stomach, "I need you to make sure Emily is safe."

          Martin tried and failed to catch his breath before opening his mouth. No words came to him. How much did Corvo know? He couldn't possibly have found out what they were planning. No, Martin realized as he searched Corvo's worried face. He had no idea. But he was ready for anything.

         The implication was clear. _Even if you kill me, you have to protect her_. The stark desperation of it was almost too much for him. The beginnings of guilt festered in his gut. Martin was a cold man, and he'd been called ruthless in the past, but he was a man after all. Some things never would sit right with him, no matter how necessary.

          "I will," Martin said, unsure if he meant it or not.

          Corvo was obviously unconvinced, but he merely glanced down, then back out over the water. The gesture was composed, calm and steady in the face of his own mortality. Without thinking, Martin reached out and grasped Corvo's shoulder. His grip was too tight, and Corvo gave him an inquiring look.

          That _look_. Damn him. Curse him to the Void. Martin wanted to strangle the pitying expression from the man's eyes. To battle that proud face into submission. He wanted to protect him from anyone else's hands, or blades or guns. He wanted--- He became suddenly aware of his drumming heartbeat. What must Corvo think of him? He let go, clearing his throat and turning forcefully away.

          "I will. I hope you're not getting reckless out there," Martin's voice was not quite firm enough. His attempt to regain self-control was pitifully obvious. Corvo said nothing, but made a hushed sound of surprise. Martin felt his face redden. Thinking he could not possibly embarrass himself further, he turned on his heel and began to walk back toward the pub.

          A hand caught his arm.

          When he looked back, Corvo was close, so close Martin could smell river water and sweat. Those dark eyes were wide in an unreadable stare, and Corvo's lips were parted. His breath fanned over Martin's face and the Overseer had to remind himself that he too needed air. Corvo glanced him over, expression shifting from concern to realization. Martin's pulse hammered away, fast as the low sound of the distant tide. _Damn him._

          "Teague," Corvo breathed deliberately, and it was too much to bear. Martin reached for him, closing a hand around the front of his coat and pulling on the fabric. Corvo came suddenly to life, roughly jarring Martin's arm until they were flush against each other, his other hand grasping the back of the Overseer's neck. Corvo kissed him brutally, stubble scraping Martin's face and chapped lips pinning him in place. It was all Martin could do to maintain his hold on the other man's coat. He hissed as Corvo bit down on his lip.

          Their teeth scraped as Martin pushed back, tongue seeking out the sweet corners of Corvo's mouth. He wrested his arm free, but Corvo merely caught him by the waist and dug his strong hands in until Martin let out a low wail of pain. Martin responded by raking his fingers through Corvo's hair and pulling. One of Corvo's hands clawed its way up Martin's back, so needy that Martin allowed himself a wry smile.

          "Why, Corvo, I would never have guessed," he was proud he had retained enough of his faculties to be coy. Corvo merely huffed laughter through his nose, with a pointed glance at Martin's Overseer uniform. That was fair enough. Out of the two of them, Martin was the one defying a blood oath. Corvo was watching him with a searching expression, as if to ask Martin's permission. Martin's gaze faltered only once, darting down to trace the harsh line of Corvo's mouth.

          "Well?" Martin asked, eyes meeting Corvo's, and it was as much a challenge as a question. Corvo's grip grew violent and possessive as he pressed his lips to Martin's, holding him in place as though the Overseer might flee at any second. Martin tangled his hands in Corvo's hair, soaking in the saltwater smell of his skin. He had sworn off pleasures of the flesh many years ago, but this... This man was more than flesh, this monster who stalked the river like some figment from a children's tale. He was unlike anything Martin had ever tasted, and neither of them intended to stop now.

          Corvo guided them toward the tower wall, half-shoving, half-directing Martin with clenched fists and pushing legs. Martin hit the brick wall hard, shoulders pressed back as Corvo's hands trailed up to grip the Overseer's collar. Corvo hesistated there, his fingers tracing the white Abbey collar beneath the grey jacket. Martin took quick breaths, feeling trapped in his own clothing. He watched Corvo's shadowy face as he considered the holy cloth, and Martin could practically _feel_ the Void rising around them. This man was every sin he'd fought to put behind him.

          None of it mattered now. Martin would have sworn himself to the Outsider if it meant keeping Corvo's hands on him. Corvo read something in his face and closed his hand around the collar, ripping it free with a forceful pull. It fell away, and Martin thought of it no more as Corvo unbuckled the top of his jacket with determined hands. Martin leaned forward, bringing their lips together again, and this time it was Corvo's turn to release a soft moan. Martin's pants felt tight.

          Corvo shoved Martin's jacket down off his shoulders and grasped carelessly at his shirt, and Martin lifted his arms so Corvo could remove it. Once he'd thrown the linen garment away, Corvo paused with one hand tracing down Martin's bare chest. Martin knew the scars that lined his body as well as he knew his own face, but Corvo was mapping them with his fingers, eyes unfocused.

         As if by instinct, Corvo's gentle hands traveled to Martin's back, where they found a forest of long, vertical marks. Martin watched the Serkonan's face as it registered the scars. Their eyes met and for an infuriating second, Corvo had the gall to pity him. Martin made a noise like a snarl and dug his nails into the skin at the nape of Corvo's neck, dragging them harshly down until he'd hooked his thumbs around Corvo's coat. Corvo shrugged out of it, saving Martin time by removing his own dark tunic and letting it fall into the dirt.

          Corvo's torso was taught, tanned skin and perfect muscle with a trail of dark hair. Martin sucked in a breath and dared to lay reverent but firm hands on him. He slipped one hand into the space between Corvo's belt and his skin, earning a shuddering gasp from the Serkonan. Martin's fingertips brushed the tip of Corvo's cock, hard as iron and freshly wet. Martin made a desperate noise despite himself. How long had it been since he'd wanted anything like this? Since he'd been close enough to receive it?

          With sudden force, Corvo grasped Martin's shoulders and spun him around before throwing him backwards. Martin landed on the Lord Protector's fallen coat, the rich fabric a poor cushion on the solid stone beneath. One of Martin's hands scraped along the ground. Corvo knelt before him, something of worship in his posture that sent shocks of animal desire up Martin's spine.

          Corvo unbuckled his own belt and slid out of his pants and boots with such practiced grace that Martin bit back an insane urge to laugh. He barely had time to appreciate the muscular outline of Corvo's naked form before the other man was on top of him, warm hands pushing Martin onto his back. Mind clouding with need, Martin fumbled for his own belt, but Corvo caught his wrists and pushed them down, pinning him in place. Martin's cock twitched, trapped unfairly in place now by the pressure of Corvo's hips. He groaned and tilted his head back as Corvo's wetness left a short trail across his stomach.

          Corvo leaned into him, breathing into his ear. Martin wondered through the fog if this was what going insane felt like. Corvo's grip on his wrists was strong as shackles.

          "Let my hands not be restless," Corvo murmured, and Martin couldn't help the sound that escaped his lips.

          " _Ward me,"_ he swore, and Corvo responded by working his hips so that the fabric of Martin's pants moved against his cock. Corvo's teeth trailed along the edge of Martin's neck. _He wants you to beg_ , the Overseer realized, but he not begged for anything since boyhood and he wouldn't start now. Instead he pushed his own hips upward, and Corvo buried his face into the curve of Martin's shoulder. He bit and licked his way down from there, pulling back just enough to close his teeth around an old scar in the center of Martin's chest.

          Martin cried out then, phantom pain tearing out of his memory. Corvo placed a gentle hand over the man's mouth, undaunted, and pressed his lips to the scar instead. Martin turned his head to the side, pain and desire speeding his pulse until he could no longer tell them apart.

          Finally, mercifully, Corvo unbuckled Martin's belt. Martin was amazed how thoroughly he'd been played. He had no resistance left in him, no fight with which to even the score. His pants were pulled carefully away and he was aware of his legs parting eagerly as Corvo slid between them. His own body was betraying him now. Whatever semblance of control he'd maintained was gone as he reached for Corvo's face, pulling himself up to plant greedy, biting kisses along the strong jawline.

          Corvo was fumbling with something in his fallen coat, digging into an overturned pocket. Martin busied himself by shifting his hips forward, newly freed cock sliding against Corvo's soft skin. Corvo splayed a hand against Martin's chest, palm covering the now aching scar. He produced a small, glowing vial from the folds of his coat. Martin watched him in utter fascination.

          "Whale oil?" Martin whispered, "You can't be serious."

          Corvo gave him a half-smile in the darkness, one side of his face glowing in the moonlight. Martin had never seen him smile before. It was a terrible, beautiful sight. Songs of devotion flitted through Martin's head even as he banished them. His breath was coming in low gasps, now, his pulse sinking into his cock. He made a sound of encouragement and Corvo wasted no time spilling the oil over his hand, palming himself briefly. Then his fingers made surprisingly gentle progress down the underside of Martin's leg and pressed into him.

           _"Fuck--"_ Martin gasped at the sudden cold, but Corvo's fingers were already warming him up, making slight circles until the oil was bearable. Martin's hands closed around the fabric beneath him as he made what he hoped were approving noises. Corvo pulled his hand free and Martin's cock ached.

          Strong hands worked their way under Martin's back, and he pitched himself forward as Corvo lifted him up. They rocked until Corvo supported their weight, scratchy face buried against Martin's chest. Martin braced himself against Corvo's shoulders and lowered himself down until he felt the tip of Corvo's cock brushing against him. He wanted to take his time, really torture the man, but simple need outweighed machination and Martin was unable to stop himself. He sunk down, taking Corvo into him and drawing pleasure from the Serkonan's shaky breath.

          Steadying his knees on the hard ground, Martin made a few slow rotations of his hips until Corvo scraped his fingers down the Overseer's scarred back and thrust brutally into him. A choked cry echoed from Martin's throat. He held tightly around Corvo's neck, burying his face in messy hair. It hurt, more than Martin remembered it hurting, but the pain was rapidly slipping into pleasure and he was wet with anticipation. He was shaking, he realized as he gripped Corvo's hair and pressed the other man's face against his collarbone. He was shaking like a schoolboy, moaning as Corvo's slow thrusting reached deeper and deeper.

          "Corvo," he caught himself murmuring, and hated himself for it. Corvo's lips made a slick path up his chest, tracing his sternum and outlining the hollow of his neck. Martin bit back a low whine as Corvo's teeth closed around the scar of a bullet opposite his heart. As Corvo bruised the hardened skin, he pulled down on Martin's lower back. Martin was caught between sharp teeth and the sweet pressure of Corvo flexing up into him. He chewed his lip, afraid Corvo would stop if he made too much noise. 

          But Corvo merely tightened his hands around Martin's middle and lifted him. Corvo slid free with a slick sound, and Martin breathed hard in terrified confusion before Corvo tossed him easily backwards. Martin landed on his back and lifted his legs obediently without hesitation. Corvo held him by the thighs and pushed into him again, with such force that Martin felt his eyes water. He wrapped his legs around Corvo's torso, panting and clawing at the ground.

          He relaxed as Corvo took up a slow, steady rhythm. A particularly hard thrust caused Martin's spine to arch, and he threw his head back with a strained, "By the Outsider--"

          Corvo gave a momentary breath of laughter, or maybe it was irony, and gripped Martin's thighs like a lifeline. He fucked into Martin, sliding in and out and driving the Overseer to clench his teeth to avoid making noise. Corvo felt too good, too hot inside him, and Martin could barely breathe. His own cock, hard and wanting, hit his stomach with every thrust, and the extra sensation was more than he could take. He made an effort to tighten around Corvo, and the cry the assassin made was worth the blinding pleasure. Corvo shuddered, gasping and biting back a moan as his hips made fast work.

          Martin took in the last deep thrust as the full force of Corvo's body pressed into him. He hissed as Corvo dug fingernails into his hipbones and pulled. Half-delirious, Martin gave in to the warmth of Corvo's cock pulsing through him, feeling him come in hot waves. Blearily, he watched Corvo's face, the dark eyes closed and head bowed as if in prayer.

          To Martin's shock, even before Corvo finished emptying himself, one of his hands was closing around Martin's cock and thumbing the wet opening at its end. Martin, unprepared, jerked instinctually into the hard palm. The motion pulled Corvo further into him, prompting another flood of heat that spread through Martin's body like fire. Martin let out a jumbled oath, words reserved for holy men and cavernous churches. Corvo's hand was warm and still wet with oil, and as those strong fingers closed around him, Martin slipped away. He came too suddenly, unable to stop himself crying out. Corvo's fingers grew slick around him as his hips moved of their own accord. In the blind heat, he repeated Corvo's name. His stomach grew wet as Corvo shifted his grip.

          It felt eternal to Martin, as he fucked himself helplessly against Corvo's palm. At some point, Corvo slid out of him, and Martin was free to fully arch his back. Corvo pulled him with slow, steady strokes, until the honey-thick pleasure was nearly pain. Martin finished with a final thrust like a breaking fever, Corvo allowing him to spill over his own heaving chest. His staggered breathing grew louder and louder as the blood rush subsided from his ears. He lay there, eyes closed, unwilling to admit the moment was over. Corvo released him and Martin faded in and out.

          The chill breeze reached him, turning his sweat cold on his skin. He raised a hand and wiped his forehead, combing through his own hair as his mind struggled to return from wherever it had gone. Corvo moved beside him and Martin opened his eyes to see the other man sitting up and staring out at the river.

          Martin was sure he ought to say something, but his mind failed him. A weird childish urge arose in him to take Corvo into his arms. He frowned at himself, tearing his gaze away from the Serkonan's chiseled back. He was not that naive. They were each means to an end. And one of them would be dead soon.

         Martin ran one distracted hand down Corvo's back, leaving trails in his sweat. Such a shame, he thought absently. A darker urge buried somewhere deep cried out in protest. There was some small part of him that could not bear to think of Corvo's heart ceasing to beat. A distant voice in the back of his mind, screaming futilely. Plans were in motion, he reminded himself, withdrawing his hand and pushing himself up. There was no going back.

          But for the moment, Martin allowed, he could certainly bask. He sat in silence with Corvo for some time, until they were both shivering slightly in the night wind. They shifted with stiff movements, Corvo helping Martin up with a firm grip around his wrist.

          "Always the gentleman," Martin said under his breath, and Corvo awarded him a muted laugh. They dressed in slow confusion, handing each other discarded clothing and shaking free a layer of dirt. When they were mostly composed, they exchanged uneven glances. Martin watched Corvo with scrutiny, trying to evaluate the assassin's mood. Corvo took a swift step forward, suddenly very close.

          Martin opened his mouth to say some tired platitude, but Corvo surprised him by taking his face in both hands and bringing their lips softly together. There was tenderness in this kiss, a delicate reassurance that caught Martin wildly off guard. His eyes closed without his permission, and he leaned forward against his will. His heart leapt into his throat.

          The taste of Corvo's lips lingered even as he pulled away, and Martin was disturbed to find he felt betrayed by their absence. Corvo was hovering a hairsbreadth away, running a thumb along Martin's cheek. Then, without warning, he let go. Martin opened his eyes to see Corvo walking briskly away, headed for the pub as he shrugged into his coat. The Serkonan's shoulders were high, defensive, and his pace was fast. Martin watched him go.

          When Corvo had disappeared into the pub, Martin turned once more to the river, taking measured breaths. His feet felt unsteady. He leaned on the rail, bowing his head to stare at the ground.

          "It doesn't matter," he told himself, but it brought him no comfort. He repeated the phrase a few times, shifting his weight uneasily until distant noise from upriver made him look. A whaling ship was heading out to sea, lights dimmed to avoid the City Watch. Martin followed her progress past Dunwall Tower and out into the mouth of the Wrenhaven, where she disappeared into the fog. He heaved a sigh through his nose, rubbing his eyes.

          "Restrict the wanton flesh..." he recited under his breath, "only sorrow is born, only misery is multiplied; within these things... the Outsider dwells..."

          He trailed off, feeling as though a veil had been lifted. There was nothing he could do, now. Corvo had made his choice when he accepted the mark of the Outsider. And Martin had made his choice long ago. He would be High Overseer. He would have the new Empress in the palm of his hand. Corvo Attano was merely a footnote.

         Comforted, Martin retrieved his jacket and put it on. He moved gingerly, hoping that with enough care he would be able to avoid a limp in the morning. He took several strides toward the pub before a distant notion that something was amiss caused him to turn back.

          His collar lay at the base of the tower, a white smudge against the ground. When he stood over it, he found he was unable to make himself reach for it. He stared at it for a long while, as the breeze rocked the little band of fabric back and forth. Finally, he extended a hand and lifted it, bringing up a pinch of dirt as well. He shoved it into his pocket.

         Martin made his way back to the pub, heart steady and stomach knotted. All would be well, he reassured himself. He would have a new collar soon enough.


End file.
